Never Too Late
by Mrs. McDreamy MD
Summary: Now is going to be continued! Can Derek save Meredith? Or is he too late?
1. Chapter 1

Meredith stares at the six pregnancy tests lined up on her bathroom sink. So much for S and M. So much for taking things slow. She can't stop the small smile that begins to grace her mouth. She is actually excited. This is what she needed. She is going to have a baby. With Derek. Her and Derek are going to have a baby and she can start her own family. She can leave all of the bad family issues behind and start her own family with the man that she loves for than anything. Finally.

She reaches up and brushes the tears off of her cheeks. Tears of joy. She thought she would be freaking out right now. She should be. She should be freaking out but she can't help but smile at the thought of Derek resting his cheek against her swollen stomach. Her hand involuntarily goes down to her now flat abdomen. She imagines how big it will be in a few months. She can't wait. She can't wait to prove them all wrong.

She turns around and runs out of the bathroom. She needs to find him. She needs to tell him. She needs to tell him so much. That she loves him. That she's ready. That she's pregnant.

She jumps into her jeep and drives to Joe's. She heard him mentioning something to Mark about going their earlier. She parks the jeep and runs into the bar. She stops at the door and her eyes scan the bar for his familiar head of curls. She spots him. She spots him and she feels her heart stop.

Derek is sitting at a table, drinking his signature single malt scotch. But Derek isn't alone. He is sitting with a dark-haired woman. He is laughing and smiling at her. His eyes are twinkling. He looks happy. The strange woman leans in and whispers something in his ear, touching his arm lightly as she does so, and Derek doesn't move away.

What was she thinking? He is so much better off without her. She was trying. She was trying so damn hard. She told him she was trying. She tried to show him she was trying. But once again she isn't enough. She isn't enough for him.

Meredith's tear-filled eyes meet Mark's sympathetic ones and she can't take it anymore. She turns around and runs out of the bar. Away from Mark. Away from Derek. Away from her pain. She reaches her jeep and jerks the door open. She doesn't allow herself to sob. Not yet.

She drives home calmly, eerily calm. Once she places the jeep in park, her movements have almost become mechanical. She has pushed him away. He wanted more and she pushed him away and now, now she has no one. She can't do this. Not alone. It was only great if it was with him. She can't.

She walks up the numerous stairs, her steps heavy with the weight of her decision. She reaches her bedroom and pushes the door open. It doesn't even bother her that the darkness surrounds her. The lack of light in her life makes it dark all the time.

She trudges across her room and into her private bath. The pregnancy tests stare back at her. Taunting her. Laughing at her for believing that she could have happiness. Her. Meredith Grey. Yeah. Right.

She glares at the straight line of pink sticks before running her hand over the counter, flinging the tests to the ground with a resounding crash. The tears finally begin to fall as the reality of her decision sinks in. It hurts. It hurts so much to know what she is doing. But there is nothing else. Nothing else.

"Never Too Late" by Three Days Grace

_This world will never be what I expected  
And if I don't belong  
Who would've guessed it  
I will not leave alone  
Everything that I own  
To make you feel like  
It's not too late  
It's never too late_

She slowly walks over to the bathtub and turns on the warm water. Step one of her plan completed. There is no point in bother to get undressed. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. Only when she realizes that she has lost him, does she realize that life is nothing without him. If he can walk away from her after all the wonderful things he said, then who will stay? She will always be alone. Always.

She opens the medicine cabinet and pulls out one of his razors. She can't help but laugh bitterly at the irony. She can't leave without letting him know. He _has_ to know. She grabs a tube of lipstick and scribbles a quick note on the mirror.

**Derek,**

**I love you always and forever.**

**Only yours,**

**Meredith**

The sobs bubble up inside of her as the thoughts of leaving him behind almost make it impossible. She doesn't want to leave him behind, but he has already left her. He has left her so many times and she has continued to push him further away. He deserves to be happy. He deserves a happiness that Meredith can't give him. A happiness that she will never be able to give him.

_Even if I say "It'll be alright"  
Still I hear you say you want to end your life  
Now and again we try to  
Just stay alive  
Maybe we'll turn it all around  
'Cause it's not too late  
It's never too late_

She kicks off her shoes before walking over to the tub, the razor _his_ razor, gripped firmly in her right hand. She places one foot in and then the other before slowly sinking into the depths of the bathtub. It seems so fitting, to do this in water. Her clothes weigh her down even further, clinging to her like a second skin.

She moves her sweater sleeves up both of her arms, exposing the thin, delicate skin on lower arm. She knows that two major arteries run down her arm. She knows that this could be very quick. Quick is good. Quick is perfect. Like a band-aid. Right?

She positions the tip of the blade just below the junction of the upper and lower arms. She wants to be effective. She doesn't want to leave any room for error. Who will find her anyways? She has no one.

She applies a small amount of pressure and the razor effectively does its work, penetrating the skin. A small droplet of blood appears at the surface, captivating, entrancing her for a moment. She finally begins to move the razor down her arm slowly, slicing through her radial artery, luckily missing the branchial. By the time she reaches the wrist, the blood has already begun to turn the warm bathwater red.

The warm water causes the blood to flow from her arteries quicker than normal. Her head begins to feel somewhat light and she leans back in the tub, not even bothering to cut her other arm. She lifts her arm out of the water momentarily, dropping the razor on the floor next to the tub with a loud clatter. Blood pools around the razor, which ironically lands in the midst of two pregnancy tests.

Meredith closes her eyes and places her frayed arm back in the water. She inhales deeply. So many things flash before her eyes. Derek. Derek is in every single image. Some of the images also contain a smaller version of her Derek. And they are happy. They are all happy together as a family as they play together on their land, where Derek built them a house.

These are the images that are running through Meredith's hand as the darkness overwhelms her and the water continues to turn a darker shade of red.

_No one will ever see  
This side reflected  
And if there's something wrong  
Who would've guessed it?  
And I am left alone  
Everything that I own  
To make you feel like it's not too late  
It's never too late_

**_This is being written for a challenge on mine and ashley's board...it's not going to be too long...maybe 3 or 4 parts...and at a later time when I don't have so many fics...I might continue it. This is the first part. The rest of the song will be incorporated throughout the other updates. I hope you like it. _**

**_-Marci_**


	2. Chapter 2

Derek sighs and runs his hand through his hair as he watches Rose go to the bathroom. She is a nice girl. She is nice, but she isn't Meredith. He sees Mark coming over to him out of the corner of his eye.

"You okay, man?" Mark asks.

Derek sighs as he looks at Mark. "She's nice, but…"

"She's not Meredith?" Mark finishes for him.

"Yeah," Derek responds sadly.

Mark studies his friend for a minute, thinking carefully about his next words. "In that case, I should tell you. Grey was here."

Derek jerks his head to stare at Mark as his friend says these words.

"And she saw you. She looked real upset," Mark finishes.

"How long ago?" Derek asks quickly, his heart breaking slightly as he knows that he has hurt her once again.

"About five minutes," Mark states as he glances at his watch.

Derek immediately jumps to his feet, knowing intrinsically that something is wrong. He can feel it. Deep down he can feel it. He looks at Mark. "Will you?" he asks quickly, motioning to the spot where Rose was previously sitting.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it," Mark says with a smile before Derek rushes out of the bar.

Derek rushes to his vehicle and jumps in, not even giving a second thought to his date. Something is wrong with Meredith. He knows it. Deep down he knows it and Meredith is what matters. She is what is important.

He arrives at her house after what seems like forever, but is actually rather quick. He runs up to her door and knocks for a few minutes, but when no one answers he uses his key and lets himself in.

He stands in the foyer for a moment, sensing her and knowing something is off. He isn't sure what it is. "Mer??" he calls out. His voice echoes through the seemingly empty house. He knows that she is here. He saw her jeep parked outside.

He runs up the stairs and into her bedroom. Her room is dark, but he can see the light coming from under the bathroom door. Maybe she is just taking a relaxing bath. Maybe. But then he thinks back to the day of the ferry accident and he quickly moves towards the slightly cracked door.

"Mer?" he asks quietly as he knocks softly on the door.

His knocking causes the door to open wider. He can see some items scattered across the bathroom floor, but she still doesn't answer him. Maybe she fell asleep in the tub. Hopefully.

He steps into the bathroom and bends down to pick up one of the several sticks on the floor. His heart swells as he stares at it. Meredith is pregnant. He is going to be a father. He quickly looks up with a small smile on his face and that is when he reads her message. His heart sinks even further. Now he _knows_ that something is wrong.

He quickly turns his head towards the tub, hoping to be greeted by her sleeping face. What he sees causing his heart to shatter into a million shards and the tears to instantly form in his eyes. He is greeted by Meredith's sleeping face all right. Meredith sleeping face is in the midst of a pool of blood.

He rushes to the side of the tub. He isn't paying attention to the items on the floor and slips in a pool of her blood, landing on her back. He lies there for a moment as he tries to recover. His back is hurting, but it is nothing compared to the pain in his shredding heart.

He moves to his knees, now kneeling before the edge of the tub. Blood covers his back and is now seeping through his khakis.

_Even if I say "It'll be alright"  
Still I hear you say you want to end your life  
Now and again we try to  
Just stay Alive_

"Oh God, Mer…" he says in a strained voice as he doesn't hesitate to reach into the pool of blood and water and pull out her limp body. He doesn't care this his Rolex is being ruined. He does not care. All that he cares about is saving the woman that he loves with ever single cell of his being.

He cradles her body close to his, only causing her blood to seep into his clothing and smear onto his skin even more. He checks for a pulse and finds that she still has one. It is weak, but not too weak. He reaches behind him and grabs a white towel that is nearby and covers her wound. The white instantly starts to turn red.

He can't believe that she did this. She did this because of him. He hurt her again, so she hurt herself. And she loves him. She wrote it on the mirror in lipstick. She loves him and he hurt her. He loves her and he hurt her.

She is everything to him. Why couldn't he just wait? Why did everyone try to tell him he had to move on? She was trying. He knows she was trying. He wanted to wait. He tried to wait. He was still waiting. He just needed something. Something to temporary dull the pain of not being able to call her his.

She saw him on the date and then came home and tried to kill herself. She can't deny it this time. She even left the note. He can't bring himself to add the adjective that goes with the word note. He can't. She means too much to him and he let her fall. He let her drown again. Will he be able to save her this time?

The tears fall continuously down Derek's cheeks as he forces himself to his feet. He has to get her to the hospital. He has to save her. It can't be too late. It just can't. He has to save her and their unborn child. He needs a chance to make everything all right. He loves her. He loves her so much. God, he hopes that it's not too late.

_maybe we'll turn it all around  
'Cause it's not too late  
It is never too late_

**There's part 2. The response has really been great. Thank you all for your amazing reviews. :D There will be probably 2 more parts. **

**-Marci**


	3. Chapter 3

Derek rushes down the stairs, cradling Meredith's limp body in his arms. His clothes are soaked through with a mixture of water and blood. She already looks so pale. So bloodless. So close to death. He suppresses the sob that threatens to escape as he rushes out of the front door, struggling momentarily with the doorknob. He doesn't even bother to lock the door as the rain pours down on them, only soaking him even more. The rain droplets trail from his hair, down his forehead and into his eyes. He quickly blinks them away, the fresh rain only adding to the blurriness caused by his tears.

He finally reaches his car after what seems like forever, but has only been a minute since finding her body. He places her body across the backseat of his car, making sure the towel is secure around her still-bleeding arm before jumping into the driver's seat. He peels out of the driveway, not caring about anything other than getting Meredith to the hospital. Now.

The silence in the car is heavy as he strains to hear the sounds of her breathing over the numerous words running through his head.

**She saw you. She looked real upset.**

**I'm trying. I'm trying to be ready.**

**So, how was your date?**

**I love you, Derek.**

**Pick me, choose me, love me.**

He grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white, and bites down on his bottom lip violently. He can't break down right now. He has to get her to the hospital. He has to save her. There is no other option. She can't die. She can't leave him. If she does, if she does leave him, it's all his fault. He should have waited. He should have known that she was trying. He just walked away. He is just like everyone else in her life.

**She, oh God, she was coming to tell him that she was pregnant. She…she must have been excited. She..**

The tears pour down his face, unchecked, as his tires screech to a stop right outside the entrance to the emergency room. He throws his vehicle into park, not even bothering to turn off the ignition before jumping out and retrieving her from the backseat. Derek cradles her body close to his as he runs through the doors.

Everyone stops in their tracks as they see the Head of Neurosurgery run through the doors. He is soaking wet and covered in blood. His eyes are bloodshot and he has a panicked look on his face, a look that screams lost. It takes them a moment to turn their attention from the strange appearance of the handsome doctor to the tiny blonde cradled in his arms.

"What the hell is everyone standing around for?" the new Chief Resident shouts as she walks into the ER. She follows their line of sight and stops in her tracks. "Oh my ever lovin'…" she trails off, staring at the broken Derek Shepherd.

It only takes her a moment before she is barking orders, which Derek doesn't hear. He is too intent on listening to the shallow breaths emanating from Meredith. Before he knows it, there is a gurney in front of him, but he is reluctant to let her go. What if this is the last time he ever holds her?

_The world we knew  
Won't come back  
The time we've lost  
Can't get it back  
The life we had  
Won't be ours again_

There is a hand on his forearm. It takes a moment for him to register the soft eyes of Bailey staring back at him. He blinks once. Twice. He finally starts to hear her.

"Derek?" she says softly, almost like she knows that he is lost. He is lost because his love is slowly bleeding out in his arms. "You need to put her on the gurney so we can take care of her." She squeezes his arm gently as she finishes.

Derek struggles to swallow the large, dry lump in his throat. It scratches. It burns. It aches. He forcefully closes his eyes, willing the lump to go away, before nodding slowly. He opens his eyes and relinquishes Meredith over to the care of Dr. Bailey. He feels so cold. He feels so alone. He feels so…Meredithless.

Dr. Bailey quickly rolls Meredith into a nearby exam room. The door is open, but the curtain obscures him from seeing her. Obscures him from seeing Dr. Bailey remove the white terry towel from Meredith's arm to reveal the eight inch cut that runs almost the entire length of her lower arm. But he can hear it. He hears the gasp. He hears her mutterings. Even in his practically catatonic state he hears it. He doesn't hear the questions hurled at him from the tall form that now stands next to him, but he hears everything, _everything,_ that goes on in that room.

His knees wobble as he hears the blood ordered. She needs a blood transfusion. He looks down at his hands and sees that they are covered in a sheen of red. Her blood. Her blood is on his hands.

**_Here's the smell of the blood still: all the  
perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little  
hand. Oh, oh, oh!_**

He feels a hand on his back. It is a familiar hand, but it is too heavy. It sends him tumbling head first over the precipice as he crumbles down to his knees, a fall which would have been harder had the body that belongs to those hands not helped slow his downward spiral.

The sobs previously kept at bay escape unrestrained, causing his entire body to convulse as his sorrow becomes dictator of his body. His sorrow reigns over him and leaves no cell unconquered as the tears fall from his eyes down onto his blood-stained hands, his fluids mixing with Meredith's in a way that he never would have wished.

Mark kneels down next to his broken friend, not knowing what to say. He has no idea what is going on. He just walked into the hospital only to find Derek standing there covered in blood. He opens his mouth to speak, but someone beats him to the punch.

"What the hell happened?" the shaken voice of the Chief asks as she stares down at Derek.

Derek can't even lift his head to see the Chief. He can't. The woman who is carrying his child could be dying and it's all his fault. That is when it hits him and he struggles to find his voice.

"She's pregnant," he manages in a strangled and distorted voice in between his desperate gasps for air.

Everyone turns to look at him, not sure if they have heard him correctly.

"What?" Mark mutters in shock.

"She's pregnant…please….save her…I…oh God…my Meredith…our…oh God…our baby.." he manages before uncontrollable sobs stifle the unspoken words. Words that are stored deep in his heart. Deep in his soul.

The Chief rushes into the exam room. Derek hears him tell Bailey. He hears everything, but sees nothing. He sees nothing but the blood _her_ blood, on his hands.

He forces his eyes closed. The future he promised her flashes before her eyes. The birth of their child. Their wedding. Building a house together on _their_ land. Fishing with his son or daughter and Meredith. Meredith. Celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, Christmases together. With Meredith. Dying in her arms at 110. In _Meredith's_ arms. Meredith is his future. He has no future without her. She can't die.

Derek opens his eyes, only to be greeted yet again by his bloody hands. That is when he hears it. He hears the most terrifying sound in the world. The beeping of a monitor. The beeping of a monitor in Meredith's room.

"Her BP's falling!" the Chief shouts.

And suddenly Derek feels everything come to a crashing standstill. His breathing. His heart. His life. His world. His Meredith.

_This world will never be  
What I expected  
And if I don't belong_

**So, there is part 3. There is one part left. It will probably be Tuesday night and Wednesday before I can get it written. The one quote in the middle was from Macbeth. Also, thank you so much for all of your reviews. They have been amazing. I really appreciate it. To be honest, if there hadn't been so much, I might not have felt so compelled to write this tonight. I also want to address one of them. Someone mentioned that the letter on the mirror was OOC for Meredith and I just want to explain why I did what I did. Meredith wasn't planning on killing herself, unlike most suicide attempts. It was an impulsive act, but she never told Derek she loved him. Not after the moment in the scrub room. She didn't want to leave him behind without him knowing. As much as 40 of suicides leave notes behind. Initially, I did not plan on having Meredith leave the short note, but she wanted Derek to be able to move on. Notes often are an attempt to provide closure. And to be honest, Meredith's character on the show has changed dramatically this season. She is everywhere it seems. The closest we have seen her in this type of situation is the ferry arc, and that isn't comparable to this situaiton in my opinion.You don't have to agree with me, I just wanted you to understand why I did what I did. Hope you all like it. **

**-Marci**


	4. Chapter 4

Derek stares at the watch on his wrist. His Rolex. The Rolex that stopped working when he submerged his arms in the bloody bathwater to retrieve Meredith. The Rolex that stopped working the moment that his world came crashing down around him. The hands are fixed on 9:45. At 9:45 his world as he knew it crumbled around him and he was forced to walk through the rubble. He had to fight the kryptonite that was his pain at the sight of the bloody Meredith and make his way through the rubble to save her.

Now. The present. Now as time was forced to drag on as his watch, his life, came to a screeching halt. Now. At 11:53 on a Friday night as his time stands still, but the time of the world continues to move on, Derek slouches in a waiting room chair. Numb. Catatonic. But in an excruciating amount of pain.

Waiting. Waiting for a doctor to walk through that door. Waiting to find out Meredith's status. Their baby's status. Waiting to see if time will start moving again. Waiting. Waiting sucks.

He can feel the sympathetic stares and people watch him. They are waiting too. They are waiting to find out about Meredith. But their every breath doesn't hurt every ounce of their being as it does Derek. Derek aches. Derek aches with every breath he takes. Each inhalation brings with it the feeling of swallowing flames, burning down his trachea and into his lung and from there permeating throughout his entire body. Derek Shepherd is drowning in his own personal hell, created by the possibility of a world void of Meredith Grey.

Mark isn't staring at him. Mark is comforting him the only way that anyone can comfort him at the moment. Mark is taking care of Meredith. Of their child. Mark knows that is what he needs. Derek didn't even have to ask. Mark knew. As much as it pains Derek to admit it, Mark _knows_ him.

So, while Derek is sitting in the waiting room staring at the dry blood that cakes his hands—sticky, red hands—Mark is taking care of the woman he loves and the child he has yet to meet.

He stares at the frozen Rolex. It appears that a sheen of red obscures the white gold, but then again, everything Derek sees takes on a red hue. Red. So much red. So much blood. Everywhere. Meredith's blood. He would give her all of his blood if it would save her. He would give anything and everything to save her.

The ticking of the large clock on the wall resounds through the otherwise still room. Tick. Tick. Tick. Boom. A crash out in the hallway. A crash in the operating room. A crash that sends Derek's world into even further disarray as Mark appears in the waiting room, a forlorn and sympathetic look on his face.

Before Mark can even open his mouth, Derek is on his feet in front of him. Mark runs his hand over his whiskers as he tries to find the best way to tell his best friend, his _brother_ what he has to tell him. But he _has_ to. It has to be him. No one else can do this. No one else can hold him up when he threatens to come crashing down.

"Derek," Mark begins tentatively, the fear of the words he has to speak causing his voice to tremble.

Derek's face begins to crumble as he anticipates the words that are on the tip of Mark's tongue. Just the thought of the possibility of what words _might_ be spoken causes the bile to begin to rise up his esophagus. He swallows, forcing the acrid fluid back down. Acrid. Bitter. Just like this moment. Just like his life without Meredith.

Derek bites down on his bottom lip as he stares at Mark with tear-filled eyes, pleading with him to not say the words he fears so much.

"Derek," Mark begins again, his voice slightly stronger, "she's still in surgery. She crashed," a small whimper escapes from Derek as he struggles to stay standing, Mark notices this and moves Derek over to some chairs. "As I was saying, she crashed, but we got her back. She's lost a lot of blood and they are still working on repairing the artery. She did a good job, but you saved her, Derek. If you hadn't gone…who knows what would have happened," Mark finishes, placing a comforting hand on Derek's knee.

The tears run down Derek's face. He lifts his hands up to wipe them away, but the sight of blood stops him. He stares, transfixed.

**Out, damn spot! Out, I say!**

Mark's heavy hand on his back lift momentarily, only to come crashing back down as he pats Derek on the back in an attempt to comfort him. "I have to get back in there," he says in a sympathetic voice, "they will be ready to close soon. Go take a shower and change into clean clothes. Grey will freak when she wakes up and sees you covered in blood," he finishes before getting up and walking out of the waiting room.

Derek continues to stare at his hands for several long minutes. Meredith crashed. Her heart actually stopped. Her heart actually stopped beating. Her blood stopped flowing. She died. She died and they had to shock her, sending a high level of voltage through her tiny body. She died again. She died again and Derek, Derek feels as if he has died a thousand times.

Derek places his sticky, blood-covered hands on his knees and forces himself to stand. The world doesn't spin. The world doesn't tilt. The world stands perfectly still on it's normally rotating axis. The Meredith-less world stands absolutely still. His world, Derek's world, won't continue to move again until he sees her. Not until he knows that she is alive. Not until he knows that she is breathing. Not until he knows that her heart is still beating.

His feet carry a seemingly weightless Derek towards the locker room. Weightless because Derek really isn't there. Derek is in that operating room. Derek is in that operating room with Meredith fighting for her. Fighting _with_ her.

He reaches the locker room and heads straight to the shower. He doesn't even bother to look and see if he is alone. He doesn't care. It doesn't matter if anyone else is in the room. It doesn't matter because physically Derek _is_ alone. He may be with Meredith in spirit, but physically he is all alone.

He turns on the water, shedding his damp and sticky clothes as he waits for it to warm. He steps under the jet spray, the warm water working his tense muscles but failing to relieve any of the throbbing pain that emanates from his entire body. He opens his eyes and stares at the floor of the shower. The white tile serves a stark contrast for the blood being washed down the drain. Meredith's blood. Meredith's blood mixes with the water before swirling down the drain. Red. White. Meredith. Too much.

It is too much. It is too much to see her blood being washed away. It is too much to see the watered down blood that looks just like the bath he found her in. He claws at the concrete wall, wanting to escape the tormenting sea that surrounds him, lapping against his feet. He needs to escape this enclosed torture chamber, but he knows that he can't. He knows that his torture chamber is his heart and that it will always be with him. It will always be with him until Meredith releases him. She is the only one who can release him from his internal turmoil that is slowly brewing into a raging tempest.

He groans, deep and guttural. A groan that speaks of pain and torment. A groan that screams of hell. Maybe it isn't a sea that is lapping at his ankles, but the scorching flames of hell.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Why did she do it? Why didn't she just talk to him? Why? Oh God, why? She was running. This was her way of running. She was running and thought that this was the only open path to her. But why? God, he doesn't understand. He needs to understand. He needs to understand because right now? Right now he blames himself. He blames himself and that blame is manifesting into a self-hatred that makes the bitter bile rise up Derek's esophagus.

He removes one of his hands from the concrete wall. A bloody handprint remains on the wall, staring back at him and taunting him. He clenches his jaw. He sees red. He sees the red of her blood. He sees the red, ugly face of anger. Anger at Meredith for doing this to herself. Anger at Mark for pushing him to date. Anger at Addison for showing up in the first place. But most of all, more than anything or anyone else, anger at himself. Anger at himself for breaking Meredith. Anger for subjecting her to the past year of pain after two blissful months of perfection. Anger. Rage. Pain. Hate. Thud. Crack.

Derek's knuckles of his right hand meet the concrete wall of the shower, landing right in the middle of that taunting hand print. The cracking noise that resounds after the initial thud of contact suggests a break, but Derek doesn't care. Derek could care less. Derek could care less because for the first time in over two hours, Derek _feels_ something. For the first time since he found her body, Derek doesn't feel physically numb. He feels pain. He feels a physical pain that can be diagnosed. A physical pain that can be healed.

He may have broken his hand, but his hand will heal. If Derek loses Meredith, Derek will break. Derek will break and that fracture in his soul will never fuse back together. It won't be able to fuse back together. It won't be able to fuse back together because the other half will be missing. _His_ other half will be missing. Meredith will be missing.

Derek quickly rinses his body and steps out of the shower, eager to return to the purgatory of the waiting room. Waiting for the verdict of Heaven or Hell. Alive or dead. He hand throbs as he buttons up his shirt, a blue bruise already beginning to form around his knuckles. He doesn't care. He doesn't care that his hand is starting to look like an inflated latex glove. He doesn't even think about not being able to perform surgery. All that he can think about is being able to breathe. Being able to live. Being able to love.

Derek practically runs down the hospital corridor as he sees Bailey and the Chief walking towards the waiting room. His heart pounds against his chest, ready to burst with happiness and relief or shatter with pain and grief. He reaches them in a matter of three, long strides. He tries to catch his breath, fearing that these breaths may be his last. He runs his swollen hand through his hair, pain shooting all the way down his arm. He doesn't even wince.

"What the hell happened to you hand?" the Chief asks in a worried tone.

Derek doesn't answer as he searches their faces for answer. For _the_ answer.

"Did she make it?" he asks in a trembling voice, his words a strange mixture of hope and fear.

Bailey smiles sadly at him. "She's in recovery now. You should be able to go see her in about an hour," Bailey finishes.

Derek breathes a long sigh of relief. He feels like crying. He feels like laughing. "Why can't I go see her now?" he asks after a moment.

"Because, she is still in post-op while we wait until the anesthesia starts to wear off and we can remove the breathing tube," Bailey responds in a very sympathetic voice.

Derek swallows as simply nods in response. He feels the Chief's hand on his shoulder. Hands don't seem to be so heavy anymore.

"Why don't we go get an x-ray of your hand and get that taken care of now so you can spend the rest of the night with her," the Chief says in a quiet voice.

Derek still can't seem to speak. His words are lost in the depths of his throat as he still struggles to comprehend the events of the past several hours. The Chief starts to lead him away, but something suddenly occurs to Derek and he stops in his tracks.

"The baby? What about the baby?" he asks in a choppy voice, the enormity of the possible loss only now setting in after he is sure that Meredith has made it.

The sigh that escapes from Bailey almost knocks the wind out of Derek as he begins to wonder if things will really be alright.

"Both mom and baby are fine, at the moment, but…" Bailey pauses, trying to find the right words to say, "Meredith lost a lot of blood and that more than likely placed a great amount of stress on the baby."

"What are you saying?" Derek manages in a weak, tired voice.

"I'm saying that we will have to wait and see," Bailey responds with a sad smile.

Derek has never been a patient man and watching his love and his unborn child fight for their lives only increases his impatience. He knows that things will never be the same. He doesn't want things to ever be the same. He wants for them to be better. He _needs_ for them to be better.

As Meredith and their baby continue to fight for their lives, Derek has to believe that everything will be alright.

_Even if I say  
"It'll be alright"  
Still I hear you say  
You want to end your life  
Now and again we try  
To just stay alive_

**_So...initially this story was going to only be four or five parts...but I have been persuaded to continue it...so you will be getting more..I hope you liked this update...I'm having a horrible, crappy day...this is the second time I've had to edit this because the computer screwed up. _**

**_Speaking of the computer, I have to send my computer in for repairs...so it looks as if I will be without a computer for two weeks unless I can figure something out...and then I have finals...so it will be three weeks until an update if I can't get another one up before I send the comp in. _**

**_I really appreciate all of your reviews. They have been great and they motivate me to continue and make me feel a lot better. Hope you all have a great Thanksgiving._**

**_-Marci_**


	5. Chapter 5

**This update is a bit different...so just hang with me...and I will explain at the end...**

A gentle breeze courses through her hair and along her scalp, bathing it as if a gentle balm. Her hair whips around her as she stretches out her arms, almost believing that the wind will pick her up and carry her away. Her eyes are closed as she spins slowly around in circles, carefree and full of life, not yet tainted or marred by the reality of the real world.

She inhales deeply, drinking in the air that is rich with a plethora of floral scents. The smell of fresh cut grass, poppies, daisies, lavender and much more enter into her nasal cavity, each scent in itself representing a happy memory. She finally opens her eyes and is forced to blink several times to adjust to the bright sun that is shining high in the sky.

She glances at her surroundings. She is standing in the middle of a field of flowers. All growing naturally and wildly. All contributing to her sense of peace. There is no one else around her. She is all alone. She glances down at her own attire. She is wearing a blue and white checkered dress with a white short sleeved shirt underneath. Her shoes are a pair of ruby slippers.

She runs her fingers slowly over her face, somewhat in disbelief that this is really her. Her tactile motions only confirm that it is indeed her own body. It is only then that she notices her hair is no longer blowing freely in the wind, but is confined in two separate pony tails—one on each side of her head. Pigtails. She is wearing pigtails.

A bark echoes through the vast empty field and she turns to find a dog running towards her. His bark grows closer as the distance between them lessens. She gasps as she kneels down, awaiting for the dog to leap into her arms.

"Doc!" she exclaims as the dog jumps eagerly into his arm. "You're such a good boy! Yes, you are!" she says in a baby voice as the dog licks her face a couple of times.

The wind blows a bit harder, causing one of her pigtails to whip around and slap her in the face, stinging. She stands up, Doc in her arms, and glances around. She sees three forms walking towards her, dark clouds forming behind them.

She feels apprehension brew deep within her bowels as the group nears her. They look familiar, yet seem so different. The first one to approach her is an Asian female, but she isn't entirely human. Whiskers sprout from the sides of her nose and a long, curling tail trails behind her, whipping ferociously this way and that. Cowardly lion she is not. Fierce, blood hungry predator is her characterization.

Next to and a few steps behind her is a male with a deep furrowed brow and elevated neck. His skin is the color of dull silver, as if tarnished, and atop his head sits a tin funnel, cocked slightly to the side to accommodate his arrogant attitude. His stride is long and his legs are bowed. The smirk that causes the right corner of his lip to turn slightly upward seems planted on his face. In his right hand he carries a huge scalpel, which he employs while cutting out the hearts of young, naïve women in an attempt to make up for the lack of his own.

Next to him, batting her eyelashes continuously, is a tall blond. She is wearing a pair of overalls, but with nothing underneath. The sides and tops of her breasts protrude from the jean material and bounce with every step she takes. Her hips move side to side as a snake slithering through the sand as she makes the approach with the others. She smacks her gum loudly, occasionally blowing bubbles. Her heavy make-up and fluffed up hair make her appear as if she is a Barbie, manufactured for your viewing pleasure. She was made to draw men in, not to scare them away.

A bolt of lightening dances through the sky, closely followed by a loud clap of thunder as the trio stands before her. Her eyes travel among them, unsure of what to say. The Asian steps forward.

"You are nothing like your mother. She was a surgery god and you are nothing. You will never be like her," she roars as the little girl trembles before her.

Next up is the tin man, stealer of hearts and breaker of spirits. "I'd fuck you. You're fuckable. Want to fuck?" he leans in and whispers suggestively into her ear, the tears now running down her now teenager face.

He crosses his arms and runs the scalpel along his jutting chin, appraising her like a piece of meat, transforming her into something less than human.

The blonde steps forward a moment later, blowing a bubble and reaching up with her long, acrylic nail to pop it before she begins to speak. "No one will ever want you or love you. Why would they when they could have this?" she asks as she moves her hands along her body, stopping briefly to cup her silicone breasts. "_He_ will never love you. You are too dark and twisty for him. He needs bright and shiny. He needs _her_," she says as she leans into the victim's adult face.

She closes her eyes, their words seeping into her bloodstream and engraving themselves on the dura of her brain. The turbulent wind raves around her. Leaves blow into her face. Finally, she opens her eyes to once more face her attackers. She gasps. They are gone! They have vanished into thin air and no trace of them remains. She is left alone with Doc.

She glances down to find the dog sitting obediently at her feet. At least he is with her. At lease she isn't alone. A black piece of material catches her eye and that is when she notices that she is no longer dressed in the checkered dress and ruby slippers. She is wearing a long black dress with a v-neck and black high-heels.

Her hair whips around her, no longer restrained by the tight rubber bands the previously held it in place. She lifts her head and is surprised as the scenery that surrounds her is dramatically changed. Dark cumulonimbus clouds hover above the land, an occasional lightening bolt fragmenting the sky and illuminating the fading world below.

She scans the landscape. Once so lively and fresh, now dark and ominous. The multitude of flowers that once painted the surrounding meadow with various colors are now all dead. The flowers hang limply from their stalks and have taken on a color between black and brown. The once plentiful green grass has dried out and turned an ugly shade of brown, some patches completely lacking all together.

A loud clap of thunder causes her to jump slightly from the unexpected auditory shock on her system. Doc whines and moves closer to her. She can't comfort him. She can't comfort herself.

Her eyes widen as the land upon a forest not far away. A forest that was not there before. A forest that looms before her. She turns around, searching for the open space that the field previously provided, but it horrified to find that the forest surrounds her, closing in on her. Suffocating her.

The darkness only deepens as she looks into the forest, foreboding only terrible things. The trees are all dead, their limbs gnarled and twisted as if undergoing a torture inflicted by nature. Mother nature. Mother nature torturing her own. She can relate.

Without taking a step forward, she finds herself immersed in the midst of the forest. The tall, dark, deformed trees taunting her as they leer down at her. Her eyes are strangely adjusted to the immense darkness and she is able to see the various lurking critters gathering around her, waiting for the opportune moment to attack.

Doc whines at her feet and she bends down to pick him up. The wind begins to howl violently around her. Dead, dry leaves pummel her in the face as she hears a low, guttural growl from somewhere behind her. Her feet are finally freed from the cement that has been holding her in place and she begins to run. She runs and she runs, but she doesn't move. The forest seems to run along with her, allowing her no escape.

The ground quakes beneath her, catapulting her forward and causing her to fall to her knees, Doc landing in front of her. The leaves seem to sprout wings of their own as they swirl around her and Doc, enveloping her in a funnel cloud of death and dust.

A loud shrill cackle fills the air as more leaves are added to those surrounding her. Swirling. Whirling. Confusing. Swish. Woosh. Silence. The leaves stop in their tracks and fall to the ground. An eerie silence reigns in the forest.

She slowly clambers to her feet, brushing off the dust and leaves that have collected on the material of her dress. Her hands tremble as she brushes her tangled hair out of her face. Her heart pounds against the wall of her chest, each beat sending a wave of pain throughout her body.

Suddenly, the temperature drops. Each exhalation produces a white puff and each inhalation pains her lungs. Her throat aches as the cold air instantly depletes her respiratory tract of any moisture. Goosebumps erupt all over her body as she runs her hands up and down her arms in a vain attempt to warm herself. Frost and ice begins to cover the branches that hang before her, starting at the tips and working towards the trunk.

A cracking noises penetrate the dead silence of the forest as branches before and behind her begin to break from the added burden of the ice. They fall simultaneously with a collective crash, effectively closing her in even further.

All of the commotion distracts her from the appearance of a new figure. She turns and gasps at the site in front of her. A woman now stands before her. She is clad in an all black skirt suit and Prada heels. Her fiery red hair hangs lose and perfect about her shoulders. An open black umbrella is clutched in her claws.

She slowly begins to approach, her heels clacking with each step. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. A smirk is on her face and her large wedding ring glistens even in the complete darkness. Her make up is perfect. Everything about her is perfect.

As this individual reaches her, she reaches down and grabs Doc violently by the skin on his neck. He yelps in protest and pain. The woman tilts her head back and cackles again, the noise chilling the forest even more.

"Did you really think he would choose _you_?" she asks before cackling again. Her eyes narrow as a knowing smile curls her red lips upward. "I have it all…and I can take everything you have…everything you love away from you…in just one motion," she states in a snobby voice.

The umbrella that previously occupied her right hand is gone, and now she digs her nails into the flesh of Doc. She stares directly into the terrified eyes of her real victim before twisting the innocent dog's neck. A different cracking noise resonates throughout the forest as his neck breaks with a sickening sound.

The bitch throws the dead dog to the ground as a pleased, an evil smile mars her features. "Now you have nothing," she says before swirling her long, black Versace cape around and disappearing into the thin air.

Now she is really all alone. She glances down at the forest floor at the dead body of Doc, but it is already decaying. Maggots eat his dead flesh as beetles also partake in the feast. Dead. Decaying. Disappearing right before her eyes. She blinks. She blinks and the bones are picked clean. The skeleton of what once was is all that remains. In a matter of seconds a life was completely destroyed.

Her eyes remain fixed on the stark white bones that stand out against the dark forest floor until she hears rustling sounds from all around her. Before she can even look up she finds herself surrounded on all sides by monstrous animals that look like deformed monkeys. They dance around her in circles, making noises that are somewhere between a growl and a grunt.

All of the sudden they stop and one of them steps forward. He reaches out and pokes her violently with his finger, as if he wants her undivided attention. "You are the reason your father left. He didn't love you. He never has and he never will. Everyone you ever love will leave you," the creature says before grunting again and returning to the circle.

Tears are running down her face as they resume their paganistic dance around her. It is only a moment before the ritualistic dancing comes to a halt and another one steps forward. This one shoves her violently in the shoulder, causing her to stumble a few steps backward. "You are the source of your mother's unhappiness. If it hadn't been for you, she would not have been miserable. You infect those around you and make them miserable," he spats in disgust before returning to his place.

Their previous motions are repeated once again and the third creature steps forward. He looks at her with disgust furthering disfiguring his hideous features. "You are ignorant and are never going to amount to anything. You have only gotten to where you are because of your mother. You will fail. You will fail because you are nothing," he finishes with a toss of the head while turning back to his companions.

Once again they dance, but this dance is more frenzied, more urgent. They come to a sudden halt and the final creature steps forward. He stares at her for a moment and she gasps in vague recognition. This one has dark, curly hair and blue eyes that she would know anyone. His eyes, his eyes are so sad. His shoulders are hunched and there is a gaping hole in his chest where his heart should be. "You have destroyed me," he says in a weak, shattered voice. "I was once happy. I was once alive, but now, now I am not even human. You have destroyed me just like you destroyed everything else that surrounds you," he finishes as he turns around.

Her knees buckle under the immense emotional burden that has been placed on her shoulders. She falls limply to the ground, as if a rag doll, as she begins to convulse with sobs. She shouldn't be allowed to live. She is like an infectious disease, tainting all of those around her. Nobody. Nothing. She wants to curl up into herself and die. She deserves to die.

She feels the world shift around her and slowly opens her eyes, terrified at what she will find. She lifts her head off of the ground to take in her surrounds. She is no longer outside. Dark, stone walls surround her on all sides. Flames from various torches dances across their surface as they provide light to the occupants. Occupants. Occupants that she knows are there because of the annoying giggle that fills the room.

She slowly lifts herself up off of the cold stone floor and turns towards the sound. Her eyes widen as she sees a women sitting leaning against one side of the doorframe and the last creature from before against the other. They are laughing and flirting with each other.

But the creature is different. He is smiling. He is smiling and human. He turns towards her and she can see the one thing that has not changed—the gaping hole in his chest cavity. His eyes narrow as he stares at her, his bright blue irises darkening with the hate he conveys through them.

The woman is wearing a pair of green hospital scrubs, which are the same color as her green skin. Her black hair is stringy and falls partially down her back. Her teeth are large as she smiles victoriously while placing a hand on the man's arm.

Something within her blood boils as she watches the scene before her. She feels a sense of ownership over the man and this woman, this _thing_, is touching him. She grabs a pail of water that is nearby, hoping to make the woman go away. The woman screams in pain as the water falls on her. Her flesh begins to melt, a mixture of blood and fat escaping through the holes created by the liquid.

She looks at the man, entreating him with her eyes. He glares at her before turning and beginning to walk away. "Derek!!" she yells at him in a pleading voice.

He continues to walk away. Her feet begin to move as she runs after him. She has to catch him. She has to make it right. He is her only hope. He is all she has left. Even if she has broken him, she can still fix him. She has to.

"Derek!!" she screams at him again as she falls in a puddle of mud. The mud splatters all over her dress and face as she lands. Her breathing is labored as she looks towards him. He is moving further and further away from her.

She struggles to her feet as she continues to run towards him. "Derek!! Please!" she cries out.

Suddenly, he stops in his tracks. He doesn't turn around, but stares straight ahead. He waits for her. He waits for her to reach him as she moves closer and closer. She stops when she is right behind him. He slowly turns on his heel to stare at her. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are spitting a blue fire.

"You bitch!" he says through clinched teeth. "You just can't let me try to be happy, can you?!"

She cries as she looks down at her hands, surprised to see her own heart beating rapidly cradled in her palms. It is hot and sticky from her blood. She glances from the heart to Derek, knowing what she has to do. Knowing what she wants to do. She extends her hands towards him, offering him her heart, her life.

He looks from the heart to her, an unreadable look on his face. He leans forward, his hot breath hitting her face. "It's over. It's so over," he spits at her with poisonous venom lacing his voice.

In one swift motion he knocks the heart out of her hands. He looks deep into her eyes as he stomps repeatedly on her heart, each forceful exertion killing her a little more as the blood spurts is all directions.

"I hate you, Meredith Grey!" he yells in her face. "I hope you rot in hell!" He punctuates his words with a final stomp on her heart before turning around and walking away.

Meredith feels her world shattering around her as her surroundings shift and everything, including herself, fade into black.

**This was Meredith's dream as she is under. Everythign is significant in this update and I could go on and on about it...and I will...on my blog. I will post a detailed explanation sometime this weekend and post the URL to it when I am done. I hope you guys liked this update...because I actually LOVE it...I think it is by far mmy favorite thing I have written...let me know waht you think...and I wasn't planning on updating this...but the muse invaded me and wouldn't leave me alone and I just had to write this...**

**Thank you all for your great reviews...they really make my day. **

**-Marci**


	6. Chapter 6

A vague sense of existence overtakes her as she attempts to swallow. Her throat is swollen and aches with the attempt. It feels as if someone is raking their nails down her trachea with each labored inhalation. Living hurts.

Heaviness hovers in her brain, like a thick cloud of fog obscuring more than just her vision. Her spirit, her soul, they are gone. They have vacated her body, leaving only the empty shell of a person behind. A pod person. She is a pod person now who has nothing. No reason to live. No reason to go on.

Images flash through her mind as her eyelids flutter. Darkness. Ice. Derek telling her he hates her. The images are not clear and she doesn't understand what they mean, but for some reason they leave her feeling more alone than ever.

She feels cold and hot at the same time. The blankets surrounding her encapsulate her in their warmth, but the coldness from her heart chills her blood cells and spreads throughout her damaged corpse. Corpse. Corpse because she can't be a human being. She isn't a human being any longer. Human beings feel things. She feels numb. She feels dead.

The morphine flowing through her veins and to her heart only reinforces her feelings of inhumanity. She doesn't feel the pain from the incision on her arm. She doesn't feel the ache in her chest from the repeated shocks from the defibrillator. The lack of physical awareness and the emotional emptiness that has overtaken her leaves Meredith Grey feeling dead.

She feels dead until she inhales once again and the long, sharp nails scrape down the cartilage that comprises her trachea. A groan escapes past her chapped lips as her eyes begin to flutter open. Beams of light blind her and for the first time she becomes aware of where she is and exactly what has happened. She tried to kill herself. She saw Derek on a date with Rose and she tried to kill herself. It is only after this acknowledgement that she remembers that she is pregnant, but she doesn't care. She may have been unsuccessful in her attempt, but she still yearns for the release promised by death.

Faces hover above her bed, staring down at her. She can see the worry etched on their faces, but it doesn't effect her. She feels like Dorothy at the end of Wizard of Oz, waking up from her almost acidic dream to find that none of it was real. Unfortunately, for Meredith Grey, everything is all too real. Even the vague and unrecalled dream is real in the realm of her subconscious and she can't help but find herself detached from the entire scene. She is an actress playing a tragic role and this is her downfall. She is the pale, manic Lady Macbeth wandering the halls of the castle as her demons continue to torment her. She is Meredith Grey. She is nobody.

"Meredith??" she hears a frantic voice ask. She knows that voice. She knows that voice all too well. It has haunted her. It has haunted her in her sleep. It has haunted her while awake.

"Please, say something," he begs in a strained voice.

She can't look at him. She doesn't deserve the comfort that she knows his eyes will give her. That his eyes always give her. She closes her heavy lids and turns her head away, deflecting the loving looks sent her way.

She feels her fingers caressing her cheek and instinctively flinches away from his caring touch. Since when was it instinct to flinch away from him? Less than twenty-four hours ago so was longing for that touch, for that caress, for that safety found only in his arms in the moments after sex.

No. Not anymore. Now his touch, any touch, only alerts her to her cold, bare existence and reinforces her need for solitude. Being alone, shutting people out, also prevents them from hurting you. From now on, that is what she plans to do. Meredith Grey is switching from a forward to a back fielder. No longer will she take place in the offensive maneuvers that guide people through life, but only in the defensive position that allows them to simply survive until the next game.

She feels his warm hand reach for hers and jerks it away, vaguely aware of the needle ripping through her skin as the IV is pulled out from her sudden movements. The stinging sensation is only a slight vibration in a world plagued by earthquakes. The gasps from those occupying the room are only a whisper in a world filled with screams. A suppressed sob from the man who once loved her but now hates her, merely a flicker of light in a world consumed by flames.

She rolls onto her side, ignoring his hand as it places gauze on her now bleeding arm in an attempt to stop the profuse flow of blood. But he can't. He can't stop the bleeding. He can't stop the bleeding of her deeply fractured heart.

She forcefully holds her eyelids closed, not wanting any light to infect the safety of the darkness in which she has found shelter. His hands work to bandage her arm, in the process once again becoming covered in her fresh, warm, red blood.

She finds herself hating him. Hating him for being so damn perfect. Hating him for being so fucking dreamy. Hating him for leaning and that stupid smirk that makes her heart flutter. Hating him for loving her. Hating him for hating her.

"Mer?" he whispers close to her ear. She can feel his hot breath on her neck and the wetness of a fresh tear on her cheek as he begs for something. For anything.

Nothing.

Images of him stomping on her beating, bleeding heart and yelling that he hates her reverberate through her mind, lulling her into a sort of apathetic existence. Apathy is better than caring. Caring only leads to getting hurt. Caring only leads to getting broken.

His hands leave her body, but she doesn't feel cold. She doesn't feel anything. She doesn't feel a single thing and it has nothing to do with the morphine. It has nothing to do with the flow of morphine and everything to do with the fact that Meredith Grey is no longer Meredith Grey. Meredith Grey does not exist anymore. Meredith Grey is a ghost. A shell. A nobody.

The non-existent Meredith Grey doesn't want to exist any longer. The non-existent Meredith Grey doesn't want to feel anymore. The non-existent Meredith Grey hates the previously existing Meredith Grey.

She feels the tape cling desperately to her arm as it hold the gauze in place, much like Meredith finds herself subconsciously clinging to the catatonic state of existence. She needs to be catatonic. She needs to be numb. She needs to pretend for just a while longer. No dead mommy. No dead fake mommy. No secret wife. No abusive, alcoholic father. No baggage. No pain.

The voices attempting to speak to her blend into a grating sounds, like nails being dragged across a blackboard. They scratch her eardrums. They cause her to grit her teeth. The fail to touch her soul. They fail to find Meredith Grey.

Meredith Grey is lost within herself and doesn't want to be found. She travels along the road paved in red, attempting to put more distance between the non-existent her and the her that physically exists. The road back is slippery and messy, a destruction site caused by the cyclone that is her life. The lack of the good witch and the ruby slippers deny her an easy return. So, who will save Meredith Grey? Who will wake her up from the nightmare that has become her life? Who will save Meredith Grey from herself before it is too late?

_Maybe we'll turn it all around  
'Cause it's not too late  
It's never too late_

**_So...I still have to write in my blog...but I will try to do that tonight or tomorrow...I live in Oklahoma and lost power because of the ice storm. I am now at my mom's house. I realize that the last chapter seems out of place...but all of those things that happened in the dream will effect Meredith in some way...even if she doesn't remember it all..I don't think many people liked it because there were not as many reviews...but I loved it. I loved writing it and I loved the way it turned out. _**

**_I hope you liked this update. In case you couldn't tell...things are not just going to go back to normal like nothing ever happened...it will be a long, difficult struggle. Meredith really wanted to kill herself...she really wanted to die...and that is not something that you just come back from. So, let me know what you think. _**

**_-Marci_**


	7. Chapter 7

Twenty-seven. That is the number of flowers that cover the border lining the bottom of the cream colored hospital wall. Thirty-five. That is the number of minutes that she has been staring at the border in order to avoid his pain-filled blue eyes. Eyes that were not only pain-filled but pain inducing. His kindness shoots daggers into her already icy heart. Shattering. Obliterating. Destroying.

She digs her trimmed nails into the soft, tender flesh of her palm, the pressure almost drawing blood. Almost. The pain doesn't register. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Nothing. The only thing she feels is numb. Numb from twenty-six years of constant emotional pain. Numb from everything but the drugs her tired heart is pumping through her system.

One cut wasn't enough. It failed her. She failed. She failed yet again. A failure. She is a failure just like her mother always told her she was. She doesn't deserve to live. What is the point in living if you are a failure? Breathing would hurt if she wasn't numb. The involuntary effort of a steady heartbeat would exhaust her if she wasn't already so exhausted.

The cold, hard metal allowed her to breathe again. The cessation of consciousness allowed her to feel again. The hope for death offered a promise of living again.

Her mouth tastes acidic and feels like cotton. If only that cotton would travel down her trachea and suffocate her. Then she could breathe again.

She can hear him breathing. His inhalations scrape across her eardrum like nails across a chalk board and remind her of his life while she feels so dead. The dripping of the IV seems to taunt her as it helps to bring her back to life against her will.

His feet scrape gratingly across the floor as he shifts in the chair, hoping to recall her from her catatonic state, but failing miserably. No one can save her. Only she can save herself and that is the last thing she wants to do. She wants to continue spiraling downward into the dark abyss that the path of her life seems to have smoothly paved for her. No bumps in that road. Smooth sailing and easy. That is what she needs. That is what she wants.

Her soul is necrotic. Her body is tired. Her heart is shattered. The revitalization of Meredith Grey will take a miracle. The revamping of her spirit an act of a god that she doesn't even believe exists. It is too late to save the Meredith Grey that lies completely still, staring at the wall before her. It is too late to save her, but the man that has been staring at her back for the last forty minutes.

He was the straw that broke her spirit. He was the loss of that last bit of hope that she clung so desperately to for so long. He was everything until he was nothing. His voice used to be the balm that would ease the pain from her wounds. His hands had begun to slowly piece back together her fragile self-worth.

All of his work was undone by one look. One look not directed at her, but another woman. One look that reaffirmed even more failures. Failure as a woman. Failure as a lover. The imminent failure as a mother. The failure of her career that would begin with said motherhood.

Yes. Derek Shepherd had pulled her from the water and saved her life. Derek Shepherd had claimed that he loved her, that she was the love of his life. Derek Shepherd had at one point made her happy. But Derek Shepherd had pushed. He had demanded. He had turned into her mother in a sick, twisted way that made her feel like she had to better herself for him. He had stopped loving her when he fell in love with the idea of her.

"Meredith?" his tired, strained voice questions her back. He is desperately seeking for some sign of life. For anything.

Her name rolling off of his tongue like velvet, something that used to cause her stomach to dance with butterflies, something that used to serve as balm, is now like granulated salt being slowly rubbed into her still fresh, still open wounds.

Only the pain doesn't phase her. The pain of being forced to acknowledge that she is alive, that she is conscious, that he is there, it no longer bothers her. Pain is what she knows. In pain is how she lives. Pain is a numbing cream that is freshly applied with every beat of her shredded heart.

She doesn't notice when the door to her room opens and a female doctor steps into the room. She doesn't see the movements of her mouth as she speaks. She doesn't hear the words as they reverberate off of her ear drum. She doesn't care that she is there to check on the tiny life growing inside of her. She just doesn't care.

The unwanted woman touches Meredith's shoulder, but she doesn't feel it. She continues to stare at the wall that has transfixed her attention for the past hour. Derek walks around the bed and kneels in front of her, blocking her view of the wall. But she doesn't see him. She still sees the ugly flowers that line the bottom of the wall.

Derek runs his finger along her jaw line, hoping to retrieve the woman he loves so much from the place where she had sought shelter from her world of pain. Trying and failing. Meredith doesn't flinch. Her skin doesn't involuntarily twitch under his touch like he is so accustomed to it doing. Nothing.

She feels cold. She looks dead. Even her eyes, once so full of life and spark, are void of awareness as they remain fixed and glazed over. He runs his forefinger over her dry, chapped bottom lip, reminiscing about the heated passion those lips had inspired. Her lip dips under his pressure, only moving by his exertion and her lack of resistance.

Her breath grazes across his knuckles, something that should be heated from her warm body temperature, but instead chills his skin like a bitter winter wind.

He stands up and runs a tired hand over his face as he looks pleadingly at the doctor. "She hasn't spoken since I found her. Not a word. Nothing," he says in a desperate voice as he plops back down in the chair that has become his perch.

The doctor rests a comforting hand on his shoulder that he doesn't acknowledge. "The psychologist will be in shortly. Maybe he can help," she says in a comforting voice.

Derek jerks up and stares at her. "Psychologist?" he asks incredulous.

The doctor widens her eyes. "Well, yes. I thought you would know. All suicide attempts are held for seventy-two hours for an evaluation and longer if they are believed to be a threat to themselves," she says in a somewhat confused voice.

Derek's head falls into his hands, still refusing to believe that she tried to kill herself. "She…maybe it was an accident…I mean…why would she? She…I mean…she is pregnant…why would she do that?" he asks in a strained voice as the tears threaten to fall. He is no longer talking to the doctor, but more to himself.

As Meredith lays before him, lost in her own world, Derek finds that his life has begun to crumble around him and he has no idea how to make it stop.

**Yeah...I know this took a while...but life sucks...hope you like it. **

-Marci


	8. Chapter 8

They finally arrive at Meredith's house after the quiet drive, both too deep in their own thoughts to carry on an intelligible conversation and neither daring to break the silence

It has been two days. Two days since he found her. Two days since she has spoken a word. Two days since Meredith had figuratively ceased to live.

In those two days, she had slept and she had stared at the wall. She refused to look anyone in the eye, afraid that they might get through to her. She doesn't want them to get through. She wants to continue to live in her semi-catatonic state of self-loathing. She doesn't know how long it has been since that night. She doesn't care. The days and nights are just all a blur of grey and all that she wishes for is darkness.

Sleep gives her solace, a time where she doesn't have to face the world and her failure in it. Sleep has taken over her life because wakefulness is only a bitter reminder that she failed once again. She can't even control her own life by causing her death. She has no control. No power. Nothing. She is weak. She is alone. She is nobody. Now if only she could be resolved into nothingness.

They had moved her around as they changed her bandages, and she moved willingly, like a limp rag doll or a puppet, her fate in the hands of those around her. There had even been a psychologist come by and try to talk to her. He acted like he knew her. He knows nothing. None of them know anything.

She is now awake and once again lying on her side, staring at the blank wall in front of her. Derek is sitting in a chair behind her, next to the bed. The same chair that he has only exited when nature had demanded it. He looks like hell. No. He looks like hell ran over…twice. He is currently dozing as the constant pitter patter of rain outside lulls him into yet another fitful sleep.

However, a light tap on the door instantly wakens him.

"Yeah?" he asks quietly as he sees the Chief standing in the doorway.

"How is she?" the Chief asks as he motions over towards Meredith.

Derek sighs as he leans forward, his head falling into his hands. "The same," is his simple reply.

The Chief nods sadly before walking over to face Meredith. He kneels down so that he is face-to-face with her. He wants to make sure that she can see the seriousness and the sadness on his face.

"Meredith?" he asks quietly.

No response as Meredith continues to look through him and at the wall. He is not there to her. Not in her world of solitude. No one can hurt you when you're alone.

"Meredith?" he asks again, this time his voice is loud and stern.

She jumps slightly, as if startled from a deep sleep, but she still refuses to acknowledge his presence.

The Chief sighs in frustration before reaching forward and grabbing her face, forcing her to look at him.

"Look at me, Meredith Grey. If you do not speak, if you do not eat, if you do not drink, I will make them put a feeding tube in you. I will also make sure that you are admitted into the psych ward for no less than a month. Do you want that, Meredith? Do you want to be admitted to psych for a month? What about your baby? Do you want to kill your baby? Is that what you want, Meredith?" he says in a commanding voice.

The tears well in her eyes, but she still refuses to speak.

"God damn it, Meredith Grey! Answer me!" he yells at her.

"Chief!" Derek yells at him as he begins to feel that the situation is beginning to get out of control.

Almost as if Derek's voice is the final pinch she needs to wake her up from her reverie, Meredith's body begins to shake with sobs as she curls up in a ball on the bed. Derek immediately runs to her, about to run his fingers through her hair.

She jerks away from his touch. "Get away from me!! Get away from me!!" she shrieks at him as his fingers graze her forehead.

The tears well in Derek's already blood shot eyes. "Mer?" he questions in a hurt voice.

"No!! No! NO!" she yells at him as she hugs her knees closer to her chest. "Go back to your nurse!! Get away from me!" she sobs as Derek stands there, thunderstruck and injured to a degree that would have killed him if it were a physical injury.

The Chief looks up at Derek, sorry etched on his features. "Derek…" the Chief begins.

But before he can continue, Derek takes a step back and throws his hands up in the air. "I'm going," is his choked reply before he slouches out of the room, leaving a sobbing Meredith behind.

"Please. Please. Please." she mumbles through her sobs as she begins to rock slightly in the bed.

"Please what, Meredith?" the Chief asks her as he places a comforting hand on her back.

"Please. Please make it stop." she begs him as she looks up at him with tear-filled eyes.

"Make what stop?" he asks as his heart breaks looking into the eyes of a woman he views as his daughter.

"The pain," she whispers through a sob-induced hiccup.

"Where does it hurt, Mer? Tell me where it hurts and I will try to make it stop," he tells her, wanting nothing more than to make all of her pain disappear, and thinking that she is talking about physical pain.

She becomes quiet and stops all movement, taking a moment before looking up at him and exposing her battle-worn soul.

"Everywhere."

iMaybe we'll turn it all around  
'Cause it's not too late  
It's never too late (It's never too late)  
It's not too late  
It's never too late/i


	9. Chapter 9

**This was actually ready last night...but my internet went down...hope you like it. -Marci**

She slowly rubs her hand over her swollen abdomen. She woke up this morning, and she had popped. She feels as if she has a half-inflated balloon under her scrub top. If people didn't know she was pregnant before, they sure as hell will know she is now. She had tried to keep it a secret. She didn't think it was anyone's business. But then again, the hospital seems to operate as a machine that feels it has a right to know all the details of her life.

She instinctively rubs her fingers along the fading scar on her forearm. It has been almost four months. A long four months. Four months of avoiding. Four months of therapy. Four months of trying to feel whole.

She moved out of her house. She couldn't take the worried looks or the hovering. She couldn't ask them to leave, so she did. She hasn't had an entire conversation with any of her former family members in almost four months. The only person she had really talked to had been her therapist. She was making steps, but only steps. No giant leaps had been made. Recovery takes time, and Meredith is definitely taking her time.

But she had to talk to him. Today. She had to talk to him today because she has an appointment tomorrow. She doesn't want to talk to him. She has managed to avoid him for the majority of the three months, only answering questions about the pregnancy and ignoring all of the others. She hadn't told him about the other appointments. She hadn't had him there with her when she heard the heart beat the first time. She had slipped the first sonogram picture under the door of his office in an envelope.

But tomorrow. Tomorrow is big. Tomorrow she will find out the sex of the baby. Tomorrow she will find out if she is going to have a son or a daughter. Tomorrow she will actually let Derek come with her. This is what her therapist calls progress. Meredith calls it insanity.

But she is going to ask him. She is scared, but she is going to ask him. She is going to ask him because tomorrow she is finding out the sex and last night, last night she had been able to feel the baby kick under her hand. So, she is going to ask him. She is going to ask him because as scared as she is of letting him back in, she is terrified of screwing up their child.

"Woah! You popped!" a sarcastic voice says from behind her.

She rolls her eyes and continues reading the chart in front of her. The chart that Bailey handed her two minutes ago before telling her to find her attending. Her attending who just so happens to be Dr. Shepherd today. At least she wouldn't have trouble finding him.

"So, how long are you going to keep shutting me out? I get Barbie, Bambi, and even Evil Spawn, but I'm the person that would help you drag a dead body across the room if you needed me to. So, how long are you going to be super dark and super twisty? Because I can't take it much longer," Cristina says as she pops a cookie into her mouth.

Progress. Progress. Progress. That is Meredith's mantra for today—the one she and her therapist talked about when she stormed into her office first thing this morning.

"Meet me at Joe's after work?" Meredith asks with a sigh as she closes her chart.

Cristina's eyes widen in shock. This isn't the first time she has given the person speech, but it is the first time that Meredith has responded. Cristina nods mutely before responding. "I'm done at six…but…isn't tequila bad for the baby?"

Meredith rolls her eyes as she allows a smile to form on her mouth, the first in months. It appears somewhat distorted from the suddenly strange curvature. "I'm not going to drink tequila. I can drink water."

"Right…" Cristina mutters as she eyes her up and down. "See you at six then," she says as she pops another cookie into her mouth before walking away.

Meredith leans her head forward in her hands. Progress. Progress. Progress. She needs to make progress. She needs to grow up. She needs to be an adult. She needs her person back.

After three weeks in a mental institution and the last three months in therapy, Meredith is finally letting someone back in. It hasn't been easy. With her numerous issues-- the dead mommy, the dead step-mommy, the alcoholic absent father, the suddenly sisters, the three near death experience (two at her own hands), the impending motherhood, and the McDreamy ex—it is no surprise it has taken her this long to once again resemble a human being.

She silently trails her fingers along the top of her abdomen. She knows she should be looking for Derek. She should have went looking for him five minutes ago, but knowing she should do something and actually doing it are two very different things.

She has seen the sadness in his eyes. She has seen the longing when he looks at her. She has seen the regret and the sorrow. She didn't want to hurt him. Well, maybe after she woke up in the hospital room she did. Maybe then she did want to hurt him. Maybe then she wanted to hurt him because of how much he had hurt her. Maybe. But she also felt she was self-preserving in her actions. She couldn't take anymore pain. She couldn't take any more rejection. She couldn't and so she wouldn't. She grew a backbone while tearing apart his heart sinew by sinew.

But then her therapist pointed out something Meredith refused to acknowledge. She told Meredith she hadn't really wanted to die. Meredith has been insulted and ran from the session, only to return a few hours later and ask what she meant. Meredith's therapist acknowledged that she was a great surgeon, like her mother, and that if Meredith had really wanted to die, she would have done better that she did. She would have succeeded if she really wanted to die. What she really wanted, deep down on some subconscious level, because Meredith still refuses to acknowledge the truth, is for Derek to rescue her. What she really wanted was for him to show up. For him to save her. For him to be her knight in shining whatever.

She allows the second smile of the day, the second smile in almost four months, to grace her face as she feels movement under her hand. Movement. That is what today is about. Not only the movement of the baby, but Meredith moving forward. Movement. Steps. Growth. Progress.

"Dr. Grey?" an all-too familiar voice asks concernedly.

She jerks her head up and her eyes meet his dull blues, a shade she is now accustomed to.

"I've been looking for you. I was told you are my intern today…" he says slowly as he takes in her slouched appearance. He notices her baby bump, something that wasn't obvious until today. He wants to smile, but he can't. He can't smile because he wants so much to have his hand on hers. He can't smile. He hasn't been able to smile in almost four months. But he notices her. He notices her smile, something he thought had gone into extinction, and it causes his heart to beat a bit faster.

"Yeah. Sorry. I was just going to come find you," she says with a sigh as she straightens up.

"Are you alright?" he asks as he glances down at her stomach, letting her know that he is asking her in reference to her pregnancy. He knows by now that she will only talk to him regarding her pregnancy. At least she hasn't shut him out completely. At least not for the last two months.

She nods slowly as she subconsciously runs her hand over her abdomen once again. It's now or never. Progress. "Dr. Shepherd?" she asks as he begins to look over the chart for their patient.

"Yes?" he asks, a bit of excitement in that one syllable. She never offers information.

She bites down on her lip as she hands him her appointment card. "Tomorrow…I have an appointment…to find out the sex…I just thought…maybe…you don't have to…but you would like to be there…I mean…it's okay if you want to say no…" she utters quickly as she stares at her feet.

He smiles. He smiles the first smile in almost four months. "I'll be there," he tells her definitively as his heart continues to beat rapidly in his chest.

"Good," she says with a nod. Progress.

"Good," he responds with a growing smile.

He begins to walk towards their patient's room, his gait a little lighter than it was previously.

"Oh, and Dr. Shepherd?" she says right outside the patient's room as the baby kicks her bladder.

He stops and turns to face her, his eyebrows raised signaling for her to continue.

She smiles at him again. Third smile in almost four months. "He's kicking now," she practically whispers.

Derek smiles at her again. Second smile in almost four months. "He? I thought you said you were finding out tomorrow?" he asks as he leans against the wall, happy to be having any type of conversation with her—his Meredith that he broke.

She shrugs. "Just a feeling," she responds simply before walking into the patient's room, Derek following behind her. Step by step she is healing. It may have taken her four months to lay the foundation, but now she is working towards building back her life, step by step, piece by piece, person by person, until she finally feels whole again.


End file.
